


sunrise throws the planets out of line

by sabrinachill



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrinachill/pseuds/sabrinachill
Summary: Michael has spent his whole life staring up at the sky, but Alex Manes’ smile is still the brightest thing he’s ever seen.****There’s less of Alex than there used to be.Physically, yes, but the losses run so much deeper than that; the war stole far more from him than just his leg.He manages to hide it fairly well, but Michael knows. The brightest parts of the boy he once loved have been scraped away, leaving him hollow and distant and a little cold, as if the fire inside him has gone out.Or nearly has, anyway. An ember still burns, buried deep and almost swallowed in the dark, but Michael sees flashes of it in those moments when he’s tangled up with Alex, their clothes stripped away and pasts cast aside.And Michael is determined to coax that ember back to life… if only he could figure out how to do the same for himself.





	sunrise throws the planets out of line

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Third Eye Blind’s “God of Wine”

There’s less of Alex than there used to be. 

Physically, yes, but the losses run so much deeper than that; the war stole far more from him than just his leg.

He manages to hide it fairly well, but Michael knows. The brightest parts of the boy he once loved have been scraped away, leaving him hollow and distant and a little cold, as if the fire inside him has gone out. 

Or nearly has, anyway. An ember still burns, buried deep and almost swallowed in the dark, but Michael sees flashes of it in those moments when he’s tangled up with Alex, their clothes stripped away and pasts cast aside.

And Michael is determined to coax that ember back to life… if only he could figure out how to do the same for himself. 

He sighs and slides out of the tangled, worn sheets on his trailer’s small bed, grabbing the first pair of boxers he finds discarded on the floor and tugging them over his hips. He realizes a moment later that they belong to Alex, but he leaves them on anyway. He kind of likes it. 

Moving on silent feet to the tiny kitchenette, Michael switches on his ancient coffee pot and leans against the counter, waiting for it to brew. Beyond the window, the desert sky is the deep purple of those last starless minutes before dawn breaks. If he looks hard enough at the eastern horizon he swears that he can almost see it glowing, warm and golden with the promise of the coming light. This has always been Alex’s favorite time of day, when the Earth is still and silent and waiting with bated breath for the new day to begin. 

“It’s hopeful,” he used to say, and Michael laughed at him, their faces just inches apart on their shared pillow. Michael would trace his fingers over the dark stubble that had grown on Alex’s cheeks while they slept, relishing the way it pricked at his sensitive skin. 

“What is?” Michael would ask, indulging him.

“Everything,” Alex always said, his smile as bright as the coming dawn. “Everything is hopeful right now. There’s infinite possibilities for what the day could bring.”

But that was years and years ago.

Michael looks over at him now, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in to see that same smile back on Alex’s face.

There’s no trace of it on his sleeping form, his expression uneasy even at rest, as if whatever has stolen his light stalks him into his dreams. 

The pot finishes brewing and Michael pours himself a cup — with a healthy shot of nail polish remover mixed in — then twitches at the shabby curtain over the kitchen sink until he’s certain that it’s closed. He spent so long out on the ranch that he began to forget about the necessity of that, of closing things off for privacy.

Of hiding. 

Not that he much cares if someone sees his bare ass walking around his house, but Alex’s… well, that’s something different. Alex has always been his secret — not because either of them are ashamed, Michael would paint their names across the sky if he could — but because the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy was firmly in place back when Alex enlisted. And even now, years after it has been repealed, it’s still not easy being gay and in the armed services. So it’s a part of himself that Alex has chosen to keep private, and Michael respects that. 

Well, the privacy part, anyway. He’s still working on accepting the whole soldier aspect of Alex’s life. 

But that’s fair enough, he supposes, since he’s pretty sure Alex would struggle with the fact that Michael originates from another _planet_. 

His curls are even more unruly than usual after a night of sex and sleep, and the persistent wind catches them when he slips from the trailer and out into the quiet morning, flopping down in one of the lawn chairs he’d set up outside. He’s parked in the back lot of the Wild Pony for the time being, his home hidden behind the dumpster and empty kegs and stack of abandoned pallets.

It’s a temporary space for what may very well be a temporary situation. 

Because a part of him hadn’t been lying about Tennessee. A part of him wants to run from this desert, kicking up a cloud of dirt behind the tire treads of his old truck, and forget about all of it. About what he is and about his family, about his never-ending quest to figure out where they came from. 

And how he might get back there. 

After all, hasn’t that been his goal all along?

…But then there’s Alex. 

And, as if on cue, the trailer door squeaks open and he tumbles out, limping a little without the crutch, a steaming cup of coffee clutched in his long fingers. 

“I can’t believe you actually have these kitschy alien mugs from the museum gift shop,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep, his feet bare beneath the pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. He grabs the empty chair with one hand, dragging it as close to Michael as possible. 

Then he folds himself into it and takes a small sip, curling over to lean his head on Michael’s shoulder. He’s warmer and softer when he first wakes, before the weight of all the trauma he carries settles itself back around his neck. This Alex is the one Michael likes to think of as _his_ , a secret Alex that no one else gets to see. 

So he kisses the top of Alex’s head and wraps his arm around his shoulder, rubbing it lightly, trying to ward off the pre-dawn chill for them both. Alex cradles an oversized coffee mug painted with the face of a little green alien in his strong hands and Michael can’t help but stare at his fingers, remembering how they feel when they’re tugging off his clothes, pulling on his hair, pressing into his bare skin. How Alex’s lips feel on his neck and stomach and between his thighs, or how his teeth scrape across the edge his shoulder when Michael is buried inside him, Alex’s nails raking down his back. 

Their nights together are burned into his mind in vivid flashes of deep blue darkness and silver starlight, in panting breath and salty skin and waves of pleasure. 

They’ve spent weeks like that now, and every moment is as good as the old memories Michael had clung to for so long. Better, in some ways. 

But they’re still haunted by that emptiness inside Alex. It’s coming back as the coffee chases the last tendrils of sleep from his mind; he sits up straight and his expression loses that softness, his features carving themselves into those of a proper soldier. 

Seeing him this closed off and cold is tragic and _wrong_ , like watching a dying sun implode into a black hole, swallowing all warmth and light and life.

Michael hates it. He wants his Alex back. 

And, he realizes, that’s going to have to start with making sure Alex really wants to be _his_. 

So he clenches his jaw tight enough that a tendon is visible against the thin skin of his stubbled cheek, and conjures the last vestiges of his courage from somewhere he’d thought long buried. 

Michael knows he can do this. He just has to _try —_ but then he hasn’t really tried to do anything in over a decade. 

“Look,” he says, trying to keep his voice soft and even, to not let his insecurity leak through. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and that you probably think that these last few weeks were a mistake, and that nothing has really changed between us. The things that drove us apart back then are still there. But—“

“—but I want this,” Alex murmurs, carefully staring into the dark dregs at the bottom of his coffee cup. He’s so still, so quiet, and those words are so exactly what Michael has been dying to hear that he wonders if Alex actually said anything at all. Maybe Michael has spent so much time alone that it’s made him begin to hallucinate. 

But then dawn breaks, the first rays of its golden light bathing Alex’s face, and Michael can see that his bright eyes are holding cautious hope — and something that looks an awful lot like love. 

And Michael feels as if he’s swallowed the entire sun, its warmth thawing his heart and melting through his chest. 

Alex is staring at him, bolder and braver now, truth ringing through his words. “I want _you_.”

That sizzling heat spreads from Michael’s chest to the rest of his body; it lights up his whole face as a rare, broad smile radiates across his features. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, smiling back, unconsciously rubbing at where his artificial leg attaches. “I mean, I know things are different now…”

Michael catches his hand and squeezes, willing him to hear his honesty. “You know that doesn’t bother me.”

“It bothers _me_ ,” Alex says. “But that’s not all I mean.”

“I know. I know the last ten years have changed you; I can see that. And I’m sure they’ve changed me too. But, if you want to try—“

“—I do.”

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

Alex smiles again, small and true, and Michael wraps his hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in. He smells like soap and skin and mint and coffee; Michael kisses him deep and long and slow, trying to pour out all the feelings he can never quite put into words. 

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn't go far, resting his forehead against Alex’s. The sun’s rising angle paints half their profiles in brilliant sunshine while casting the other halves in shadow — the hope of the future, tempered by the weight of the past. They carry both now and, for the first time, they’re starting to believe that they’re strong enough to hold it all. 

Alex brushes his hands over Michael’s face, smoothing his thumbs over the ridge of his brow, tracing his fingertips along his hard jawline, winding one of Michael’s wild curls around his finger. He can’t stop smiling, his face flushed with hope and joy and the promise of a bright future stretching out before them. 

And when Michael looks into his eyes, he can see that banked fire inside Alex finally flicker and flare, flaming back to life. 


End file.
